A Day in the Life of Sheogorath
by saberstorm
Summary: The Greymarch is over. Now what is that Madgod up to today? A series of shorts dealing with the various things the ascended Sheogorath tends to get herself into. Open to requests.
1. Sheogorath is Not Amused

Sheogorath is (Not) Amused

AN: Mostly doing this for kicks, and to try to write my way out of a slight case of writer's block. This uses the version of Sheogorath I drew and posted on DeviantArt. **If you have any ideas for things you'd like to see the Madgod deal with, please tell me!**

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Haskill shook his head as he entered New Sheoth Palace. He was having one of those days. Once again, the people of both Mania and Dementia were requesting a new Duke or Dutchess, and once again Lord Sheogorath had denied them. Though technically it should be 'Lady Sheogorath' now. The Graymarch was over in a most permanent form, with Jyggalag freed from his curse. This had left a void in the Throne of the Madgod that was as easily filled as it was emptied. The new Sheogorath, the first and only true Sheogorath in fact, was formally the mortal known as the Champion of Cyrodil. Within a single night that had changed. Sheogorath was to the surprise of many, including Haskill a female who looked to be a perfect cross between the Aureal and the Mazken. Her golden skin had a bluish blush, and her midnight blue hair had streaks of gold in it.

Surprisingly enough, her appearance caused the majority of Aureal and Mazken to stop fighting so much and start getting along, though Haskill suspected it had something to do with the threat of dismissing both races. That wasn't to say that they still didn't fight over Cylarne, but it was now less of an enmity and more of a friendly rivalry.

Unfortunately, the new Sheogorath unnerved Haskill from time to time. This was mostly because of how differently she viewed madness than her cursed predecessor. There was no doubt that she was mad, but there was a method to her madness, and that made her both very powerful and very dangerous. Thankfully, most of the other Daedric Princes could care less about her. Others found themselves changing their allegiances drastically. Nocturnal and Azura became instant friends, while Mehrunes Dagon became an immediate enemy. Clavicus Vile said he didn't like her because she cheated, but he didn't bother her either. To the surprise of most of the Daedric Princes, Jyggalag openly declared his allegiance with the new Madgod who had freed him.

Looking around the Throne Room, Hakill let out a sigh of relief that Sheogorath wasn't around at the moment. He felt he had enough to deal with at the moment with the general populace of New Sheoth demanding new nobility. Unfortunately for him, he had spoken much too soon.

"Ah, Haskill! Have I ever told you how wonderfully dreadful it is that I am easily amused? It is so dreadfully wonderful!"

Haskill looked down to see her lying face up on the carpet, wearing her usual purple dress that was both formfitting and slightly revealing. "Just enough to drive a mortal mad while maintaining my modesty," Sheogorath had described it. Haskill was glad it had no effect on him. "No, my Lord," he answered, knowing full well that she would summon him into a brick wall if he dared call her a 'Lady'.

She pointed up at the ceiling, "Those cracks make the most interesting faces. That set over there looks like Azura, while that one looks just like Syl moments before I killed her." She snickered at the memory, putting her hands behind her head.

"Indeed," Haskill replied. He had a bad feeling, partially because even he couldn't predict Sheogorath's actions or emotions any more. She was in a good mood now, but he was sure that it was going to change in a matter of seconds.

He was right. She pointed towards another cluster of cracks and said, "That group over there looks like Mehrunes Dagon." She frowned, a vein in her temple ticking, and a massive fireball destroyed the offending image, creating a new skylight. "I hate Mehrunes Dagon," she muttered, standing. Then she turned to him, "Haskill, why the hell is there a hole in my ceiling?"

Trying to hide his nervous shock at her outburst, he replied, "I don't know, m'Lord. I'll get someone to fix it right away."

She turned away from him, "You better. Tell Tove the Unrestful to do it, or I'll use his eyeballs to pickle my wine." Haskill quickly turned to do as he was told, only to stop as she called out, "Never mind. Leave it. I like the sunlight for now."

Haskill sighed, massaging his temple to get rid of the migraine that he could feel coming.

"Not that I'd ever let you, but have you ever thought about retiring, Haskill?" Sheogorath asked, sitting down on her throne.

He couldn't help but give her a rueful smile as he answered, If only.


	2. Oh Wabbajack!

Oh Wabbajack!

There was nothing unusual about the Palace Grounds that day. The sun was shining in the Shivering Isles, and everything was relatively calm. But when a few dark clouds collected together and a series of clothing began to land in the courtyard, the Aurel and Mazken currently on guard could help but look up in surprise.

Thankfully, it wasn't raining clothes. While the clouds above were indeed a sign of their Madgod's irritation, the clothes were coming out of one of the Palace's windows, one that belonged to Sheogorath's private chambers. Wisely, the guards avoided ground zero where the clothing began to collect. Not long afterwards, the clothes were followed by armor, trinkets, and weapons, followed by the occasional growl of, "Where is it? Where is it?"

Unable to resist, one of the Mazken guards, Nera, turned to her Aural counterpart and asked, "What did you loose this time?"

Tiara, the Aural in question, raised an eyebrow and replied, "Your dignity, I think."

Both of them snickered. Out of all the Aruel and Mazeken. Nera and Tiara were two of the youngest, and got along the best. Having noticed this, Sheogorath had broken tradition and had them paired up for guard duty around New Sheoth Palace and the Fringe, as well as whatever errand the Madgod thought up when they were around.

That didn't mean they received special treatment though. They still joined their respective armies at Cylarne, but whenever either of them fell in battle, they quickly returned from their respective Essences. This was because of a special blessing they had received from Sheogorath, who saw the two of them as twin daughters. This had earned them two nicknames, depending on who you talked to: either the Divided or the Undivided.

Logically, Sheogorath called them whatever she wanted to, including 'Late for Dinner.'

The two daedra jumped again when an entire vanity landed in the growing pile in the middle of the courtyard. "Wabbajack!" the Madgod's voice echoed out the window, as if she was both cursing and crying out in relief. Was that what the Madgod was looking for? Such questions were quickly squashed when the spear in question was thrown out the window as well.

Both Nera's and Tiara's eyes widened. "Oh Shit!" they chorused as the Daedric Artifact landed and shattered. The resulting shockwave of magica knocked down Aurel and Mazken all over the city, and turned the mortal citizens of New Sheoth into various creatures and critters.

Shaking the stars from their heads, the Undivided quickly scrambled to attention as Sheogorath appeared in front of them, laughing hard enough that tears were running down her face.

"Things get so much more fun when you change the rules," the Madgod chuckled, wiping tears from her face. "Could the two of you please go into New Sheoth and bring me one Scalion and one Grummite? As soon as the Wabbajack wears off, we'll have our new Duke and Dutchess. Unless, of course, it doesn't wear off of one of them. It which case, we have an impostor to roast for dinner!"

Unable to hold back their smiles, Tiara and Nera both smiled, "Yes, Lord Sheogorath." They bowed respectfully and hurried off to do as they were asked.

"Thank you, my Divided," Sheogorath said, and then called out to their retreating backs, "Make sure you get back before dinner, or we won't have anything to roast!" The Madgod smiled for a little bit, glad that one problem had been taken care off. Then she activated one of her favorite summoning spells, and Haskil appeared next to her.

"Yes, my Lord?" he asked in his usual, bored tone.

"Cheer up, Haskil! I have good news! No more Duke or Dutchess trouble! Just clean up this mess, and it will all be done!" she smiled.

Haskil actually felt relief flow through him. That compared to what he had to deal with, he'd take cleaning up a simple mess. Smiling back, he answered, "It will be done. Thank you, Madgod."

She shrugged, "Time is all it took, and I have all the time in the world. Unless Akatosh decides to turn back time. Then I have no time at all!" Snickering at her own joke, she gathered up the fragments of the Wabbajack. "Some persistent mortals are trying to summon me in Daggerfall. This is the third time this week, so I'm going to have some fun and tell them to find the pieces of the Wabbajack, which I'll scatter all over Tamriel. I might not be back until after dinner, so keep our Scalion or Grummite over the fire for me."

She vanished, and Haskil suspected she when she came back, it would be with a few more citizens for the Shivering Isles.


	3. Remembering

Remembering

AN: Mostly doing this for kicks, and to try to write my way out of a slight case of writer's block. This uses the version of Sheogorath I drew and posted on DeviantArt. **If you have any ideas for things you'd like to see the Madgod deal with, please tell me!

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The Imperial City in the heart of Cyrodil was not immune to strange events. The Oblivion Crisis had taught both citizen and guard that much, especially when the dragon Akatosh appeared. But ever since that day, every year something happened that made most anyone who saw it pause.

Accompanied by her Divided, Sheogorath made her way through the streets, her face and form covered completely by the violet cloak that flowed around her as she walked. Once or twice a new guardsman would approach, only to be dragged away by the veterans or warned away by her two guards drawing their weapons. Rumors had circulated as to who she was, but she was more than happy to help some of those rumors along. Even now, few could ever connect the dots and realize that she, the Champion of Cyrodil, was Sheogorath.

When she reached the statue that stood in the still toppled walls of the Temple of the One, she couldn't help but smile. Unaffected by weather or man, the statue remained a reminder of the sacrifice made years ago, a sacrifice she would forever pay tribute to.

Juggalag had once asked her why she held another mortal in such high regard. Her response was that few of the Daedra could claim such courage in the face of annihilation. Even Azura admitted to respect the sacrifice of the last Septim, a man who was truly a dragon among men.

He was the reason why her door remained open in Tamriel, even though she moved it from time to time. It had become her pact with him, with the Nine, and with all the citizens of Tamriel. Even now, she could still remember his words.

"_The Future of Tamriel... the Fate of the Empire... these things now lie with you..."_

She sat down next to the statue, hiding in the shadows. Eventually a whisper came to her ear.

"_Do you even remember who you once were... what you once where?"_

"No," she answered just as softly. "It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is what I am now; who I am now. I am just as much the past as I am the present and future."

"_You are an immortal now... completely changed... reincarnated in a sense... and yet you choose to hold to the promises of a past life..."_

"As only someone insane can," she chuckled.

"_Indeed... I am glad I met you... I am sorry I could not stay..."_

"No, you're not," she answered. "Or maybe you are. Again, it doesn't matter. Even if it did, what matters most is that you did the right thing."

"_Thank you... old friend..."_

"I still miss you, Martin Septim."


	4. Passing the Torch

_Written on 11.11.11 for 11.11.11_

Pass the Torch

She was running.

Perhaps running wasn't the right word. It was more like a swift glide, otherworldly as she was in its nature. Mountains were crested in minutes, and valleys where swallowed as if they weren't there.

Nothing was going to stop the Madgod.

Sheogorath could feel it deep within her. It had been decades since Oblivion opened, and the Empire was fragmenting. So much had happened, and so much had yet to happen.

Her gate could not remain open for much longer. She needed to find the one that was prophesied. It was time to pass the torch.

For days, she frantically searched the various regions of the Empire, no longer in its golden age. She would have enjoyed the company of those who saw her and joined her for brief moments, if her mind was not elsewhere.

Rare it was for the Madgod's attention to be so focused on one thing. But this was such a case, and woe to the mortal, daedra, or god who stood in her way.

Then, finally, she found the place.

There was nothing about the house that was special. It was who was inside that interested her. Quiet as a shadow, Sheogorath picked the lock and slipped inside. Her velvet shoes made not a noise as she moved across the floor from room to room.

She approached a crib with care, a smile on her face. This was not her usual smile of amusement or insanity. No. This smile could be more attributed to that of a mother looking upon her child. Reaching down with one hand, she caressed the babe's head, as if giving a blessing.

In a way, she was. Not her usual blessings of various forms of madness either. This was something deeper, something that even the gods were bound to, even though it was rooted in her own power. It wasn't even a blessing she needed to give, as the very essence of all of creation had already bestowed it. But she wanted to, if only to give her time in Mundas some closure.

This child would have the unique power of Defiance. God, daedra, or man, it did not matter. This child would have the power to defy them all.

Leaning into the crib, Sheogorath whispered in an ancient language to seal the blessing.

"The shape of the future, the fate of the Empire; these things now lie with you, Dovahkiin."

As quickly as she had arrived, she was gone. Her door would vanish, never to be seen until she wanted it. All that was left was the wind outside. But if one listened, the wind might have sounded like something else: a hymn:

"_DOVAHKIIN DOVAHKIIN  
NAAL OK ZIN LOS VAHRIIN  
WAH DEIN VOKUL MAHFAERAAK AHST VAAL  
AHRK FIN NOROK PAAL GRAAN  
FOD NUST HON ZINDRO ZAAN  
DOVAHKIIN FAH HIN KOGAAN MU DRAAL_

"_AHRK FIN KEL LOST PRODAH  
DO VED VIING KO FIN KRAH  
TOL FOD ZEYMAH WIN KEIN MEYZ FUNDEIN  
ALDUIN FEYN DO JUN  
KRUZIIK VOKUN STAADNAU  
VOTH AAN BAHLOK WAH DIIVON FIN LEIN"_


End file.
